


The Perfect Figure

by SamanthaNovak



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel To The Rescue, Cuddles, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Horror, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Sam Winchester Whump, Wax, encasing, just a plain ol' human psycho, platonic cuddles, the villain isn't actually a supernatural being this time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-25 03:36:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14968265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamanthaNovak/pseuds/SamanthaNovak
Summary: Fill for the following prompt from the LJ SPN Kink Community. (I had originally filled this anonymously but a positive comment made me feel brave enough to claim it.)"A psychopath tries to encase Sam in wax.Cas gets there in time to save him but Sam is traumatised. Having Cas close helps."





	The Perfect Figure

**Author's Note:**

> Another kink meme fill. I've filled several prompts anonymously because I have anxiety and sometimes, I just feel too afraid to claim the fill for whatever reason even though I've clearly claimed a couple prompts already. But a positive comment on this one made me feel better about claiming it so here it is.

* * *

 

“You’re so pretty,” cooed a voice as a hand skimmed down Sam’s cheek. “You’ll make the perfect wax figure.”  
  
Sam tried to furiously shake his head to dislodge the hand on his face but his head was restrained with a strap across his forehead and another across his mouth, effectively gagging and restraining. He glared at the forty-something man standing in front of him, mumbling something into the strap.  
  
“Sorry, didn’t quite catch that,” the man chuckled before stepping further down the box he’d strapped Sam into while the hunter was unconscious.  
  
The Winchesters had  _thought_  they’d found a case. As Sam now knew, it was just a regular, ordinary human. A psycho human, but still. His name was Tom Jenkins, owner of the town’s perpetually deserted wax museum. (“Not as popular as Madame Tussaud, mind you,” Jenkins had said.) They’d believed him to be a witness and when Sam had gone to ask a few follow-up questions, he’d offered Sam something to drink. Sam now realized it had been laced with something. The hunter had woken strapped into a box no deeper than his own body.  
  
And he was naked. (“Clothes just detract from the beauty of the figures,” Tom had said when he noticed Sam had realized his clothes were gone. “Especially that god-awful suit. I don’t care for suits.”)  
  
“I knew as soon as I saw you that I had to have you, Agent Jones,” Tom said, tightening the strap around one of Sam’s wrists when he noticed the hunter trying to wiggle it free. “When I saw you and your partner, sure, I thought ‘The shorter one is kind of nice to look at, too.’ But more so in an obvious way. You… You’re beautiful in a subdued, elegant way. Tall, that hair, those eyes… Sure, the color will be hidden under the wax and the hair won’t be as soft but still. With that face… You’re worth the process it takes to make them. Do you want to know how it works?” he asked in distorted version of eagerness.  
  
“Well,” he went on despite Sam’s lack of agreement, checking the strap on the other wrist. “First, I strap my, er, models down into this little box here. It’s deep enough to coat them then but not enough that I loose them in the wax. You see, I have to be sure the wax can set properly so it needs to be contained. Then, when it sets, I begin chipping away at it, sculpting out my figures and polishing until they’re smooth and then I paint them to look just like the model. It’s a lot more time-consuming than the traditional process but I think my figures come out more lifelike this way.”  
  
Sam glared harder at his captor until the older man stepped out of his line of sight. He can hear him moving somewhere nearby in what Sam presumes is the old man’s basement though he can’t see anything other than the ceiling above him. Then he hears the mechanical whirring of parts moving quickly. Unable to see what’s going on, his body reflexively tries to jerk in surprise when he feels hot liquid filling the bottom of the box near his feet. The heat travels up his right side and when it reaches his shoulder, he can see a very large vat being held up by steel pipes attached to a moving arm that extends out of his line of sight. Out of the vat, liquid wax is being poured out.  
  
“This is the slow part,” Tom explained from wherever he stands. “The drum is full enough of wax that it should coat even you, big boy, but I have to stand here and watch it go ‘round and ‘round just to be sure you’re coated before the wax runs out. It’s never fun trying to change vats. Especially when you gotta do it fast to make sure the mold is filled before the wax starts to set. Otherwise, you end up with odd lines where the layers of wax meet.”  
  
Sam screamed against his gag, trying to wiggle in discomfort at the heat surrounding his body. It burned wherever it touched his bare skin. Unfortunately, the restraints did their job, keeping Sam from being able to move properly.  
  
“Ah, yes, those restraints can be a bit annoying,” Tom sympathized. “I unclasp them and move the straps away from the body once the wax is high enough that my models can’t get away. That way, they won’t interfere with the final figures.”

Several minutes later, the wax had risen high enough that his arms and legs were completely covered, he could feel it touching the tips of his ears, and surrounded by so much heat and having been struggling for so long, Sam could do little more than lie still and moan in discomfort. Now and then, he’d twitch as his nerves reacted to the burning of the wax around him, eliciting fresh whimpers of pain. Before the wax could fully claim his extremities, Tom had removed the restraints so they wouldn’t become part of his precious figure but by then, Sam didn’t have it in him to try to struggle for freedom.  
  
Before much longer, Sam felt the wax rising above his neck and over his ears. Panic set in when the world around him became muffled and the burning wax around his throat made him feel like he couldn’t breathe. He screamed through the gag and tried to thrash his head to dislodge the wax despite the strap across his forehead. He vaguely heard Tom saying something through the wax but no longer cared. Despite the heat and pain, he found his second wind and tried his damnedest to thrash himself free.  
  
The wax rose higher. Sam could feel it creeping up his cheeks and under his chin toward his mouth and nose and eyes. He felt it surrounding his body, the heat so overwhelming that he felt nauseous. Before the wax could get too high, he saw Tom holding up a syringe and a piece of paper with writing on it.  
  
_Just in case you can’t hear me; which is a good possibility. I need to remove the last two straps. Don’t move or scream! Or I will render you unconscious again. Blink twice if you understand._  
  
Sam whimpered as he read the words then blinked twice. He didn’t want to see what was happening to himself but in some morbid way, it was better to be aware in case a way out presented itself – not that Sam had the energy to move quickly enough through the wax or to overpower his captor anyway – than to be knocked out and never wake up.  
  
Once Tom got his answer, the note and syringe were set aside and the last two straps were removed before they could be cast in wax, too.  
  
“Please,” Sam croaked, feeling tears falling down what was left of his temples. “Please let me go…”  
  
He continued his litany of “please” and “let me out” and “I won’t tell anyone” despite his inability to hear himself. His throat burned from the wax around him but he continued to plead for his freedom.  
  
Then, through the wax, he heard the muffled sounds of scuffling and then had to squeeze his eyes shut as a bright light filled the room. They snapped open several seconds later when he felt fingers tapping what was left of his exposed cheeks. Before he could realize who was touching him, he did his best to thrash through the wax, screaming “no”s and “please don’t”s until his brain caught up with his eyes and he realized the worried expression above him belonged to Castiel.  
  
“Cas?” he whimpered, eyes flicking down to the angel’s lips as he spoke but Sam couldn’t make out what he said. “Get me out!” he pleaded, dissolving into sobs of relief and fear and pain. “Get me out, get me out, get me out!”  
  
By now, the lower layers of wax had cooled enough that hey weren’t totally liquefied. He saw Castiel shove his hands down into the wax and felt the angel’s fingers against his skin as Castiel scraped away chunks of wax. He leaned over the hunter to scrape at the other side of his torso and head then slipped an arm under the hunter’s head and lifted his upper half up away from the wax. A touch of two fingers to Sam’s forehead cleared the wax from his ears.  
  
“I’ve got you, Sam,” Castiel said and the rumble of the angel’s voice sent Sam into a fresh wave of sobbing, burying his face into his shoulder.  
  
“Out, out, out, out,” Sam mumbled trough his sobs even as Castiel began scraping away at the wax lower down Sam’s body.  
  
“I’ve got you,” Castiel murmured over and over as he worked though he doubted Sam was listening.

Freeing Sam’s lower half was a bit easier and before Sam realized it, Castiel had lifted him from the wax and stepped back. He moaned as his weight settled against Castiel’s firm chest, pressing a burned side into rough material of clothing. Castiel gently laid him down onto the cool cement flooring then touched two fingers to his forehead again and all the burns and the pain and lingering traces of wax vanished.  
  
Now unhindered by pain, Sam shoved himself upright and flung his arms around Castiel’s neck, burying his face into the angel’s shoulder, crying in relief.  
  
“Oh, God, Cas,” he sobbed. “Thank you, thank you, thank you…”  
  
“Shhhh,” Cas soothed as he ran a hand up and down Sam’s spine as the hunter sobbed his thanks over and over. “You’re free now, Sam. Jenkins is dead. He won’t hurt you again,” he added, casting a glare toward the burnt out corpse of the man in the corner.  
  
It took several minutes for Sam to cry himself out. Even once his sobs and died down into hiccups and hitched breaths, he still didn’t let go of the angel. And when Castiel tried to pull away, Sam grasped at the lapels of his coat in tight fists, eyes wide in panic.  
  
“I’m not going anywhere,” Castiel soothed, brushing a hand through Sam’s hair. “I simply want to give you my coat to cover up with. Then I will take you home.”  
  
Sam swallowed hard but nodded, letting go of Castiel enough that the angel could shrug out of his coat and drape it around Sam’s shoulders, wrapping it around him before lifting Sam into his arms, bridal style. It was a bit awkward given how much taller Sam was to Castiel’s vessel but the angel was strong enough that he could hold the hunter.  
  
The world fell away as Castiel flew back to their current motel.  
  
Later that night, after Dean had mother henned Sam with worry all evening and the two had finally gone to bed, Sam lied awake, listening to Dean snoring in his own bed. Every time the younger brother tried to go to sleep, he kept imagining the nightmare of that afternoon: the overwhelming heat, the sheer terror of being encased alive…  
  
And the relief of seeing Castiel there to free him, the feeling of being held in the angel’s strong arms. God, Sam really wanted that right now. He wanted Castiel to hold him and tell him he was safe. That Jenkins was dead and that he wouldn’t let anyone get to Sam.  
  
“Sam?”  
  
Sam gasped and shot straight upright at the sound of his name being whispered and looked around in the dark. Dean was still snoring and there was a figure at the foot of his own bed. Panting with the fading adrenaline rush, he leaned over and flicked on the lamp between the beds. Thankfully, Dean only mumbled in his sleep and rolled over.  
  
“Cas?” Sam said when his gaze landed on the angel.  
  
“Hello, Sam. I heard your soul crying out to me. You seemed frightened.”  
  
Sam swallowed around the lump in his throat. On one hand, he was immensely relieved that the angel was there. On the other, he felt childish for needing comfort. “I-I’m fine,” he lied, forcing a small smile.  
  
“Sam,” Castiel said softly, rounding the bed to sit on the edge and reaching to brush back Sam’s hair. “Please, do not lie to yourself or to me. I care very much about both of you. If you need me, all you have to do is ask.”  
  
Hard as he might try, the gentle tone and caring words broke Sam’s resolve and he found his lip trembling as tears filled his eyes. “I keep seeing it,” he whispered in a shaky voice. “I keep feeling it and I… I can’t make it stop. And I remembered when you got me out of it and I just… I wanted you to hold me like that again.”  
  
Without a word, Castiel arranged himself against the headboard and drew the taller man into his arms. Sam wiggled down a bit to rest his head against the angel’s chest, feeling his vessel’s heartbeat (idly, he wondered if it  _needed_  to beat or if Castiel made it beat). He curled himself as small as he could against the angel and breathed deeply the familiar scent of ozone and fresh laundry. Clean and safe and home.  
  
“Thanks, Cas,” he mumbled as he finally felt himself relax as the angel stroked his hand through Sam’s hair.  
  
“You’re welcome, Sam. Pleasant dreams.”


End file.
